


To Be Inside Doctor Lecter

by KatzAndCannibals



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Murder, Other, and stuff, and supernatural references, basically this is where you get murdered by hannibal, i dunno, read it for puns, such fun right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:55:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatzAndCannibals/pseuds/KatzAndCannibals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THAT WAS A PUN. Literally. This isn't smut. I swear. Basically what would happen if you guys got murdered by Hannibal XD Or something. I think it's kinda self explanatory. But yeah. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Inside Doctor Lecter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [http://www.nerds-are-cool.tumblr.com](/gifts?recipient=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nerds-are-cool.tumblr.com), [jimhoppersbeard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimhoppersbeard/gifts).



He hunts you. A shark. Preparation. Planning. Then, the carrying out of the procedure. His facade of sophistication, his mask that few can look past. His graceful actions, the cocking of his head, the way he cooks, the way he talks. Planned. A demon lies behind those mirrored eyes, a monster. A monster no one can see

Not until it's too late.

He left at ten. Just in time to catch you out. Just as it was dark enough to see and light enough to hide. He always hides in the light. To hide in the dark would be to embrace the shadowy thing that lies inside, and he's not quite prepared to look inside himself, not yet.

Hannibal Lecter approaches you with ease. With confidence all but exuding from his tweed-suited, paisley-tied self, he tries to keep calm. Tries to enjoy the anticipation, the wait. The hunt. That's what it's all about, isn't it? The thrill of the chase, the blood pounding through his veins, all while his heart never raises. His cold, scientific mind, driven mad by the monotony, the tedium, the sheer dullness of the real world, of keeping up appearances, all but craves these rare (and yet at the same time all-too-common) occasions. When he can embrace his inhumane self. When he can hide behind no facade. No mirrored windows here. No person-suits, irrespective of how well tailored they are.

He saunters up behind you. Which role should he play tonight? A lawyer? A psychiatrist? A professor?

His true self? Either way, no one will notice. No one will care. The man that walks in the darkness feeds in the light, hides in plain sight and hunts on your shoulder. To remain unnoticeable, to walk amongst heroes while he , himself, the villain, cast the blame on anyone who took his fancy. Anyone who suspected.

Anyone who cared to see past the facade, to shelter the droplet of doubt in their mind that would grow and grow into an ocean.

It was all part of the show.

It is all a part of his design.

\---------------------------------------

 

Shadows lurk in every corner, dancing across every surface, creating silhouettes, feeding and encouraging your sinister imagination.

Who can blame it? Your poor mind craves blood. Blood and death. An eccentric, macabre fascination that you keep hidden in the depths of your most prized possession. The laptop. You speed up, spurred on by the thought of bed. Duvet. Tumblr.

There are footsteps. Behind you, and they're approaching. Fast. And yet, so excruciatingly slow. A surgical, drawn out process.

Hunting their prey.

You try to tell yourself to ignore them. You try to tell yourself how ridiculous you're being. Try to pretend they're not real. Imaginary. Real. What's real anymore? You don't know.

You’re doubting reality. Try. Try to pretend you're imagining it. But pretending is for the naive, the unknowing. You can't pretend anymore. They're still coming closer. You try to analyse the situation, be logical, reasonable. Because fiction and reality is so often a blur. Adrenaline a drug.

Maybe you want this. Maybe the sensation thrills you. The unknown, the night, the fear, the ever-so-tangible unreality that terrifies most enthrals you. You're not scared. This isn’t the first five minutes of supernatural. At least, that's what you tell yourself. But at the end of it all, you just want to know. Know what's going to happen next. About to die. About to live. You're about to find out.

They approach, faster, louder, faster, closer, faster, then it hits you. The tangible realness of it all, the danger, the threat, the impending moment upon which all matters. And fucking hell do you want some vodka right about now. Or pizza. Pizza solves everything… Well maybe not this. Fuck. Concentrate. Run! Boy, were you a fool for cutting gym… this is not the time for Disney references.

Then it hits you. You don't have much time to process it, but you would have said it was a heavy, blunt object against the back of your head. Raw despair, running through you like an icy blaze, like the blood in your veins, pumping with all the energy you can muster.

The adrenalin surges, but it's still not enough. It's too much. And all too real. You want your life to flash before your eyes, you want something poetic to happen; a light in the darkness, a tunnel, something to symbolise the end of the end. But you know it's only the beginning. You try to focus.

Now. Your footsteps are clumsy, childish, your body and your mind drifting apart in an inevitability that makes your mind startle and your head ache. Pounding. Your heart, wrenching. Your breathing laboured.

The world is dream-like, surreal, as if seen through a filter. A pinhole.

Then light. Vicious, agonizing, venomous, malevolent light. Hands claw at your body. A smile that tugs at your stomach, a sickening smile that leads the way for your departure.

And the final ironic thought that crosses your soon-to-be-redundant mind? ‘Is he sniffing me… peasant?’

You welcome the darkness. After all, it is the only escape from the nausea consciousness creates. An acidic, bitter laugh. A sadistic smile. Then nothing. Blissfully ignorant nothing.

 

You had always said nothing good could come of going outside.

 

Bright lights. Too late. I’ve taken her already. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Now for the dance of death to begin. Swift movements. Confident slices of the flesh. So young, beautiful. A delightful meal in the making. Too good to keep it all to myself. 

Sharing is caring after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Totally worth all the revision time (I think?) ah well. We hope you liked it. Feel free to check out the co-author (http://shutthefrontdoorxp.tumblr.com/)'s blog cos she's awesome and stuff. Ciao!


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